Nemesis by Bill Pronzini Read Free Book Online Page B

Won a state lottery, invested the money, left everything to his niece.”
    â€œThe hell. How much did she get?”
    â€œA substantial sum.”
    â€œHow much is substantial?”
    â€œTwo million dollars.”
    Another shift of expression: astonishment this time. Five-beat stare. Then, unexpectedly, Ostrander burst out laughing. Loud, booming laughter that echoed and re-echoed in the confines of the greenhouse. Vitriolic, without a trace of humor.
    â€œScott?” Karen Ostrander had come inside, was standing on the path behind Runyon. “For heaven’s sake, what’s the matter?”
    Ostrander choked off the laughter long enough to say, “Two million dollars. The bitch, that crazy bitch inherited two million. …” And he was off again, the laughter hiccupping out of him now.
    Karen Ostrander hurried past Runyon, took hold of her husband’s arm and shook him until he choked it off again. “Who?” she said then. “Who are you talking about?”
    â€œMy ex. Verity.” He wiped his eyes with the back of one hand, looking now as if he wanted to cry.
    â€œOh, no.”
    â€œOh, yes. Christ, two million dollars!”
    â€œOf all people who don’t deserve that kind of windfall—”
    â€œYou know the woman, Mrs. Ostrander?” Runyon asked her.
    â€œâ€¦ No. Only what she did to Scott.”
    â€œAnd that was?”
    â€œMade his life a living hell for two years, then tried to hold him up for alimony when he divorced her.”
    â€œHow did she make your life a living hell, Mr. Ostrander?”
    â€œEvery goddamn way possible.”
    â€œAffairs?”
    â€œShe’s a conniving, cheating bitch,” Ostrander said. “Verity. My God, if ever anybody was ever misnamed!”
    â€œDid you know the man she was engaged to two and a half years ago, Jason Avery?”
    Ostrander wagged his head. Runyon couldn’t tell if it meant, no, he hadn’t known Avery, or if he was refusing to answer the question.
    â€œAvery drowned in an accident in the Delta. Did you know about that?”
    This time Ostrander’s entire body shook, not unlike a dog shedding water. “Listen, mister, I’m not going to talk about her anymore. Not after what you just told me. Not today, not ever.”
    â€œYou’d better go now,” his wife said to Runyon.
    â€œTwo million dollars,” Ostrander said. “Jesus Christ!”
    Another burst of laughter followed Runyon out of the greenhouse, into the afternoon heat. This one was different from the others, thickened by more emotion than bitter resentment. Despair was one, he thought. The other was hatred.
    *   *   *
    It was 4:30 when Runyon rolled into Martinez. Small city on the southern bank of the Carquinez Strait that had been different things in its hundred and fifty years: gold rush and shipping boomtown, railroad switching point, home of Shell Oil refineries, sprawling bedroom community for the less affluent than those who lived in Orinda, Lafayette, Danville. Somebody had once told him it was the birthplace of Joe DiMaggio, and he had no idea why that had stuck in his mind. He’d never been much of a baseball fan.
    Two stops to make in Martinez. He picked Gateway Insurance, where Verity Daniels had worked before her inheritance, as the first of them. As early as it was, Hank Avery might not be home yet from his job and Runyon’s preference, if possible, was for a joint meeting with Avery and his mother.
    The Ford’s GPS led him into Martinez’s old-fashioned downtown. The offices of Gateway Insurance were on a side street near the Amtrak station—a small, cramped space cut into two sections by a windowed partition. Half a dozen desks were packed close together in the outer two-thirds, only two of them occupied, both by middle-aged women; the inner one-third, behind the partition, was a private office. A slender, flaxen-haired man in